Cloudy Grief and Good Riddance
by 39addict101
Summary: Isabel Kabra's funeral.


**I suddenly realized the other day that I had never seen a fanfic on Isabel Kabra's funeral...**

 **I know. She was buried in the blast that Jake carried Amy out of...but, let's ignore that. People change enough stuff, so I can ignore that, right?**

 **This is super angsty, which is really fun for me to write, but I suck at it, so...sorry 'bout that.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own the 39 Clues. If I did, angsty Amian would be one of the main themes...so its probably a good thing.**

 **Anyway, on to the story. Enjoy!**

* * *

It was raining. Ian Kabra stood in front of his mirror, and tried to prepare himself for the mental strain that was coming. Adjusting his tie, he cringed as he saw how tired he looked.

His eyes were dull, and his mouth was twisted. But it was the tiredness that had broken him, changed him, scarred him.

He was tired of the feuding. Tired of the Cahill problems. Tired of the deaths.

Two weeks ago, he had buried Alistair. One week ago, he had buried Mr. McIntyre. Yesterday, he had buried his only sister, Natalie, along with the remainder of his old self. Today, he was burying his mother.

He sat down heavily on his bed, and listened to the drumbeat of the raindrops on the roof. Sighing, he stood back up, and walked out of his room, and towards his car.

After today, he knew that he would not be the same.

* * *

"I'm sorry."

"We would like to offer our condolences."

"I wish words could express how I feel."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry."

"Ian." Jade eyes peer into his dull amber orbs. "I'm sorry. I..." She was gone, in a whirl, tears running down her face.

Ian was sick of it. The same responses. The trying to be sympathetic when really they were thinking, "Good riddance."

He saw Hamilton come in, looking ridiculous in a suit, with red roses in his huge hand. He came up to Ian, and gave him a huge bear hug. "I won't I'm sorry she's dead." Hamilton said, choking, "But I will say this." He swallowed, and looked as if he was reciting a speech that he'd memorized. "I know she was mother. I know you loved her, and I'm sorry for that reason."

Then he too was gone, having pressed the roses into Ian's hand.

He looked down at his mother. He was the only one by her casket. The only one. His father, as usual, couldn't show his face at something like this. Not that Ian would have wanted too.

But he wished Natalie was here, standing by him, to offer him some support.

He choked on the lump in his throat that he had been trying for so long to ignore. Her face was so pale. The blush that had been applied to her cheekbones, in order to make her seem youthful and full of life, had done nothing. Instead, it had had the opposite effect.

Her face seemed made up, and her false eyelashes were over-extravagant on her powdery face. Her hair was curled, but Isabel never curled her hair like _that._ Her lipstick was like a scar, and the highlighting job done on her face was poor.

His chest heaved, and he tried not to cry. _Not in front of everyone._

There was a gentle touch on his back. The funeral director was there, telling him to go sit down. He did, sinking down heavily into the plushness of the chair.

One of Isabel's friends stood up, her face heavily made up, her generous bosom bouncing as she struggled to ascend the stairs onto the platform. Breathing heavily, she began to speak into the mic in a breathy voice. "Isabel was my best friend. She...umm...was always there for me, and um...whenever I called her, she would always answer and talk...um...even if she was busy." Her eyes, which were surrounded by rolls of fat, glistened.

Ian felt sorry for the woman. Isabel had, behind her back, called her a fat slob, and said she only talked to her because her husband was very rich, and bought many products from one of their many factories.

After the woman had finished speaking, Ian stared in horror as Amy walked up. "I'm not going to lie to you all." She said. "Isabel did horrible things to us." There was a long pause. "But, she was a mother, a wife, a friend. What she did to me she may not have done to others. Ian, I feel for you. She was a mother to you, the only one you'll ever know, and I grieve for that reason." With that, Amy sniffed, and descended the stairs.

Ian's hurt ached, and he stared at his mother's face, where she lay, so still, in the casket. He listened as various Cahill relatives got up to speak, most of their speeches sounding very similar to Amy's.

It wasn't fair. Isabel _had_ been kind and good. _Sometimes._ He wished they had known her when she was smiling, laughing, kissing him, and had been genuine. The hunt for the clues had consumed her, morphed her, as it had so many others.

Then the funeral was motioning for him to come forward, and Ian gulped. He didn't if he could make it through his speech. Rising, he too walked up, and took the mic. Breathing deeply, he began to speak. "She was my mother." His voice cracked, and he struggled to regain control. "She was a friend. But she did change. The memories I will cherish of her will be when she was hugging me, pulling my silk blankets up to my chin. Kissing me goodnight. Laughing." He watched as Amy struggled to keep from crying. "Most of you did not know this side of her. But I did. And that is what I will remember."

Handing the mic back to the director, he walked back down to his seat, the tears pouring down his face. They had come, and they would not leave.

* * *

The rest of the funeral was a blur to Ian, until he was sitting in the car, next to the casket, near his mother. For the last time.

Opening the box, he ran a finger over his mother's face. It was so cold. So stiff. So plastic. So awful.

His heart wrenched and he bit his lip. "Mummy." He said, in barely a whisper. The man driving the car looked back at him, then turned around.

And then, before Ian knew how fast the time had flown by, and they were at the cemetery. Suddenly, panic gripped him as he realized that he had to bury her in the ground, just as he had done Natalie. She was his only family member left.

The driver got out of the car, and began walking towards the canopy set up over a gaping hole in the ground. Ian leaned over, and brushed his lips against his mother's cheeks, and then he shut the lid for the last time.

Getting out of the car, he signaled that he was ready, and began walking towards the canopy. Reaching it, he sat down in the reserved seat. The only reserved seat.

He reached a hand up to wipe at his eye, and he watched them wheeling the casket over. Panic gripped him, and he struggled to control himself. He didn't want to bury her. He didn't want to. He wanted her. He needed her.

The ground was wet, from the rain that had only just stopped, and Ian's shoes were soaked. He forced himself to concentrate on the fact that his feet were wet, and that he would most likely have to throw away another pair of shoes.

And then the others arrived. They were sober, their faces downcast, and their eyes not quite meeting his. Only the family was invited to the burial. Ian hadn't wanted a whole ton of people to come to this part. He didn't want random strangers to see him break down, to see him cry. For he knew he would. It was inevitable.

The preacher, dressed in an immaculate suit and tie, stood up to speak. Just as he was saying "Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust."

Ian broke, and the tears came. And suddenly there was a pair of arms around him. _Amy._

He looked up at her, the tears pouring out of his eyes. _I can't. I can't do it._ And her eyes said, _You can. You will. You have to. I'm here for you._

Ian smiled grimly, and then he realized they were going to lower the casket. "Wait!" He cried, his voice full of tears. "I need to see her. One more time."

The man looked at him, nodded, and opened the box. Ian leaned over, and ran his hand down his mother's cold stiff face, and kissed her icy cheek. For the last time. Choking, he motioned for the man to shut the box, which the man did.

As the casket was lowered down into the ground, tears freely fell from Ian's eyes, and he cried. Let the tears fall. He didn't care who saw.

That was his mother. His mother, who had given birth to him, was in the ground, and he had to put dirt on her.

Grabbing a handful of dirt, he tossed them in, and pulling a rose out of the bouquet that Hamilton had given him, he threw it in, and then, turning away, bit his lip, and cried mournful tears of hate, disgust, and sorrow.

It wasn't fair. He had lost everything. Everything that was valuable to him.

And then were arms around him. _Amy. Hamilton. Dan._ The whole Cahill clue hunters wrapped their arms around Ian, and held him, feeling his pain.

And they cried with him. For all of them had lost someone. And all of them knew what it was like. They knew that they would be the same if they had lost their mother and sibling too.

The little group stayed huddled around the gaping hole in the ground. Thunder cracked, and the rain poured, rivulets of water ran under their feet, pouring into the grave.

* * *

 **AHHHH! That was sooo fun to write!**

 **Please leave me a review. But if you don't, that's fine too, (I guess... D: ) seeing as everybody reviews everybody's stories except mine. I'll just live with it.**

 **Thanks for reading. But don't bother to review. No body likes to review my stuff, so just don't bother. ):**


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